A Final Journey
by Azria-night-song
Summary: The time has come for Frodo to leave Middle Earth, but what happened on his trip to the Undying Lands?


Frodo kissed Merry and Pippen; Sam, last of all. It was time for him to go. He _wanted _to go – he would never heal properly in this world, not after everything that had happened. Yet, Sam – sweet, loyal Sam – had shiny eyes, full of sorrow and understanding. Pippen, with a quivering mouth, had turned away to wipe away at his own eyes. Merry just smiled, letting his tears stream down his cheeks unabashed, but Frodo didn't miss that his smile was wavering. A sudden pang rippled through his heart, but looking at his dear, dear friends, he somehow knew that they were going to be all right. It was time to let go. Frodo had already made peace with his decision long ago, but goodbyes were always hard. That's one of the reasons why he tried to slip away unnoticed before…

Well, in any case, he had done his part. His time had come, and it was time for him to go. Fingering the white gem, another deeper pang tore through his chest, disappointed by the lightness of the jewel. Normally the necklace gave him some comfort, but today the ache was more difficult to bear. Shaking his head, and with a final smile, Frodo boarded the ship. Frodo did not take his eyes off of the three Hobbits, who as the seconds passed, were getting red eyed and shouting their goodbyes, even as they started crying harder. _Now there, _Frodo thought to himself, the back of his eyes beginning to burn; _if you keep blubbering like that, I might just start crying, too. _He hardly noticed as the sails were drawn up, and only when his friends grew smaller and smaller did he realize that the wind was blowing, and slowly the ship sailed toward the long, grey firth.

As his friends grew farther, and farther away, Frodo imagined how their lives might be. Sam would surely be mayor for a long, long time, and will probably keep growing things and make the Shire more beautiful than ever. Merry and Pippen shall likely continue to make a name for themselves, enriching the gentle folk with song and wine, filling young Hobbits with a love of adventure with their stories. The thought of adventure entering the Shire made Frodo want to burst out laughing; who knows how likely that idea was. Bilbo was considered an oddity, but perhaps with this new age, Hobbits will be inspired to travel more.

With a grin, Frodo began to imagine little Elanor growing up hearing about these stories. She would certainly hear of how brave her dad was, how just Aragorn had been, and of Gandalf's wisdom. She would hear all about how Sam and Frodo trekked into the dark lands of Mordor in order to save not only the Shire, but Middle Earth too. His smile faltered then, a familiar thought eclipsing the others. An image of gold so beautiful, so fair and pure; one couldn't help but gaze at it, admiring it for its shape, which was that of the purest of circles. Thinking of it almost made Frodo gasp at its beauty; precious indeed. That familiar, awful and yet, almost comforting weight… it made Frodo wish he could reach out, and grasp the object of his imagination: he _missed _the Ring. The thought made his stomach churn.

A hand rested on Frodo's shoulder, and he looked up to see Gandalf. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Within his eyes held a quiet understanding and love, and it seemed to Frodo that Gandalf could read his mind. Well, it wouldn't be the first time in any case – Gandalf always seemed to know what was on his mind.

'I can still feel it, Gandalf.' Frodo found himself once again grasping the gem that hung around his neck in the palm of his hand, this time grateful for its lightness. The necklace comforted him, reminding him of what is good and light.

'I know,' said he. 'I know, Frodo. But it shall pass.'

Although Frodo trusted Gandalf – of _course _he trusted Gandalf – he couldn't help but wonder how Gandalf could be so sure. But then, this is what his final journey was for.

Frodo looked back up and saw that his friends were no more than dots. He frowned; when did they get to be so far away?

'Frodo! Come and sing a song with us! Or at least listen to one. There's no point in looking back, now.' Bilbo called from behind.

Unable to see his friends any longer, Frodo turned and walked toward his Uncle. He Frodo blinked when his eyes gazed upon Bilbo's old face; he looked… Younger, somehow. Well, that wasn't quite right, but he wasn't entirely sure how else to describe it. Brushing the thought aside, Frodo placed himself between Bilbo and Galadriel toward the middle of the boat, where there was something like seats. Elrond was standing off toward the edge of the boat, Gandalf walking towards him. Glancing at Galadriel, Frodo couldn't help but think that she seemed even more queenly and gay than usual, her husband matching her for joy in the blue of his eyes.

'What song do you have in mind?' Frodo asked, watching as Gandalf took his place on Bilbo's other side.

'Well, there's a song that I have heard some time ago…' Bilbo trailed off.

'Please," Elrond urged.

Without further ado, Bilbo cleared his throat and opened his mouth. His voice came out clear, and surprisingly strong for his age.

_Firiel looked out at three O'clock;  
the gray night was going;  
far away a golden cock  
clear and shrill was crowing._

Closing his eyes, Frodo let the words flow over him. He wondered what was beyond the end of this journey. What kind of land is Valinor? He's only heard a little bit from Gandalf and from stories, but they aren't very clear. Come to think of it, wasn't Galadriel born there? Frodo seemed to remember hearing that from somewhere, but couldn't recall where he heard it, or even when.

_A ship with golden beak and oar  
and timbers white came gliding;  
swans went sailing on before,  
her tall prow guiding  
Fair folk out of Elvenland  
in silver-grey were rowing,  
and three with crowns she saw there stand  
with bright hair flowing._

Frodo finally opened his eyes. The sky had changed, and it seemed to him that time passed rather oddly. Well, it wouldn't have been the first time that time acted differently than it aught, so there wasn't much need to worry about it. Bilbo's voice washed over his mind, the words sweet to his ears, and for the time being at least, worry truly was the last thing that Frodo was feeling. The ache in his shoulder was even beginning to fade.

"_Far away  
on the last road faring,  
leaving western havens grey,  
the seas of shadow daring,  
we go to Elvenhome,  
where the White Tree is growing,  
and the Star shines upon the foam  
on the last shore flowing._

'_To mortal fields say farewell,  
Middle Earth forsaking!_

It was odd, but he was beginning to feel a little lighter. When was the last time that he felt like this? There was a day here and there after his mission had ended, but more often than not – especially as of late – he had been tired, and sick. He always felt heavy in the last few months, void of energy, like some evil thing was attacking his mind and body. The feeling was all too familiar for the weathered Hobbit.

_Slowly the elven ship went by  
whispering through the water:  
'I cannot come!' they heard her cry.  
Soon the sunlight faded._

He _did _feel lighter. Frodo looked over at his uncle, and he definitely looked better. What was going on? Frodo looked over at Gandalf, who at some point had seated himself near Galadriel and started smoking. He was careful so that the smoke would not blow in The Lady's direction, and looked untroubled. Was Frodo going crazy? Well, crazier than before, at least.

_Year still after year flows  
down the Seven Rivers;  
cloud passes, sunlight glows,  
reed and willow quivers  
at morn and eve, but never more  
westward ships have waded  
in mortal waters as before,  
and their song as faded._

The final words of Bilbo's were as soft as the gentle laps coming from the sea, his hum fading away until it was nothing. Frodo took a close look at his uncle, and Frodo realized that Bilbo was indeed different than before the journey started, and he was right to think that Bilbo didn't look younger, exactly. No, he was still quite wrinkly, and his hair still very white, but there was something about his face that was different. It didn't have a certain… edge to it that Frodo had come to grow used to. In fact, he had never seen Bilbo more at peace. Peace…

'-wouldn't you say, Frodo?' Gandalf was asking.

Frodo blinked, realizing that he had been spacing. 'Oh, sorry I didn't catch that. What did you say?'

Frodo's companions on the ship laughed. 'Been off on another land, have you?' Bilbo asked, an amused smirk spreading across his face.

Embarrassed, Frodo nodded. Soon, conversation between Gandalf and Bilbo took hold. Every once in a while, Shadowfax would neigh, or butt his head against Gandalf's shoulder, to which Gandalf would respond with giving Shadowfax an apple. Frodo listened in silence, and grew in fascination at his uncle as his energy seemed to increase. Why, it was almost as if Bilbo was young again!

Frodo himself began to feel more talkative, and was in the midst of telling a story of how he was _so _desperate to curb his mushroom craving that he had – yet again – snuck into Farmer Maggot's crop when it began to rain.

'I honestly didn't know if I was going to make it out alive!' Frodo was saying. 'It's a pity we didn't reconcile earlier, but for a good thirty years I was terrified of Farmer Maggot and his dogs because of this.'

Allowing for a pause for laughter, he opened his mouth to go on about how he made it out when the first drop fell from the grey sky. Looking up, Frodo marveled at the sky, which was a curious color of blue and gold. The party sat in silence, entranced by the rain that began to fall. Soon, the air was sweetened by the mix of rain and wood. Frodo expected a dull ache to appear in his shoulders and joints, but found (with great surprise) that no such pain appeared! In fact, he couldn't help but feel that he was indeed in even greater spirits and felt revitalized than ever before.

Singing could be heard from the distance, and it was almost as if the wind itself was the one vocalizing the words. Frodo raced towards the edge of the boat, his heart thumping with excitement. His mouth stretched wide into a smile, and he gripped the edge of the boat. Although he couldn't see anything yet, he _knew _that something was beyond a certain point.

'Look! It must be Valinor!'

'Frodo! You're acting like a youngling!' Bilbo laughed.

In his joy, Frodo couldn't respond. He stretched forward, trying to capture the words that were being sung. Although he was certain it was in some sort of elvish that he didn't know, Frodo felt an undeniable peace as the words washed over him.

And then it seemed to him that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise.

⸞ _End _⸟

**Author's Note**

The song Bilbo is seeing is Tolkein's work called "The Last Ship" and has been (sadly) shortened so that you are not reading five pages of poetry I didn't write


End file.
